disparate

For most of my young, adult life; I have believed that myself and my three siblings had roughly the same upbringing. That seemed like a fairly accurate estimation of affairs for quite a long time. It is only of late that my previous ascertainment has come to the surface to me as a massive error of reason.
The majority of us would have absorbed the clues much more quickly: After leaving the nest, the oldest and youngest of the lads went straight for the Marine Corps. The baby of the family took a yen for a potential doctor who ended up being a tough-ass in the Army.
Blame it on the booze, or the illicit narcotics that have out-fathomed my cortex. Blame it on whatever you like.
I've been living in a fog of self-importance. My 'reason' has been enough for me for so long that I've forgotten about the other versions.
The smiles that myself and my fellow spawnlings share; the frowns as well've done confounded me. We share the same brand of physiognomy but the real message of the expressions that we wear are much more complicated than, "we're related so we have something in common."
I have spent so much time away from my kin that I can no longer claim any 'real' common ground with them other than the common ground of human experience. I see myself as more of an aberration when I compare myself with those former children.
Each of my siblings is a success to one varying degree or another. The boys are high-ranking officers in the USMC. My little sis is a proud mother of two. Her husband is a brilliant man of rank in the Army.
Here I am: Low level cook in a semi-beloved bar/diner. I am disciplined. I work my ever-lovin' balls off in order to bring home the proverbial bacon.
This is the bitch of having relatives. Especially relatives who've undergone the trial that is known as the 'Crucible.'
I've been living the hard life (in different towns) and surmounting my own difficulties for the last decade +. My brothers have been tempered by the cruelty and unforgiving nature of war in distant lands. I don't think that my struggle will ever balance out, even to these lads. So much for my struggle. The only friends of mine who've died were either drug-dealers or military.
Dammit!
The major difference between drug-dealers and military is that one group is free to mourn and celebrate, and the other has to run away and regroup.
The military boys that I've met don't have any problems with users or dealers who give a shit about the people that live around them. Of both groups, the villain is the fuck who runs willy-nilly about making regulations for the so-called free.
Pot-head friends of mine are dead. Thanks military. Blame the substance. This is a classic.
Maybe 'stoners' deserve to die. If you care about your friends then you will be a little bit patient. There is a chance that folks of the psychedelic persuasion are just as good as any other.
I would love to say something meaningful now but I fear that there are just too many folks out there that believe that users are all flotsam.
Education.
What about now?
My own body feels that there is a mistake being made. I suffocate.
The world?
If you do not care about the advancement of humankind then you should just fucking stop meddling.
Yep. If you think that our species will/should develop then you should take a breathing break. There are too many humans inside of our world that think that they are the only ones that matter. Atomic bombs might be balletic?

For the Love of Food!

I work with food.
More accurately, I work with items that will become food as long as I appreciate each of their qualitative values and treat them with respect.
Respect is a slippery subject to address when considering the merits of food preparation. It's got something close, to my mind, a similar vibe to spirituality. Preparing food is very much a ritual to me. I feel like a nature worshipper when I'm standing before my chopper and board; a pile of produce here, a block of cheese here, raw cuts of animal flesh there. It makes me want to tell civilization to toss off, trade my pants for robes and move to a hut with an open fire, a garden, and plenty of birds and beasts around for fodder. I think of drawing an arrow and closing my eyes and praying to nature for peace and understanding before I let fly the pointy shaft that will bring mutton, or whatever, to my block.
It's difficult to ignore the importance of our ecosystem when the bounty, and all of the sensuality that accompanies it, are lying there, full of promise.
The more different types of things that I prepare, and the more that I hone each stage of the procedure; the more it is that I feel in tune with myself and the world.
After a point, it exceeds mere hedonism. I care about my cooking, and I care about it's reception. A real cook will be thinking of the limitations and potential of each ingredient, as well as those of anyone who may be around to indulge. Until the preparations of a dish are completed I am walking a razor's edge of anxiety. Too much or too little of anything will destroy the dish. Misplacing a step may lead to discovery or disaster. Both.
Thanksgiving is coming up, around the bend.
If you plan on celebrating it this year then it might be good to innovate your own understanding of the process. That's what I'm trying to do. Thanksgiving, 'the original Earth Day.' If you have the wherewithal to revel in celebratory gastronomy this year then celebrate the process of it and celebrate the origins of the foods that you will eat.
And remember: Cooking is good excersize. If somebody asks you to lend a hand; do it gladly. That work will be less that you have to do to fight off the pounds that you will inevitably put on as a result of your feasting.
Thank you.